


Rehearsal

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Yule ball just around the corner, Harry and Ron are still without dates - and without any idea what to do with them should they find any. From this perspective practising seems like a rather brilliant idea...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rehearsal

„What would you do... you know, if you got one?“ Ron asked him, lying in his bed on his belly, his chin resting on the palms of his hands.

Harry sighed in exasperation. That damn Yule ball! Only days away and they were still without dates, both of them. Bloody _Neville_ had a date, for Merlin's sake; clumsy and shy Neville had gotten it together and asked... someone! Or at least that what he had told them and Harry had no reason to doubt his words – the perpetual smile on his face spoke for itself.

But when it came to Ron and himself it was all in the area of _“What if...?”, “I suppose we could...”, “Let's...” -_ but when they as much as set a foot outside of the dorm, all the bold plans were forgotten and they turned as shy and as awkward as they came. Harry felt his limbs nearly turn into wood, when one of the pretty Beauxbatons girls walked by, proudly lifting her chin up as if he was mere dust underneath her elegant shoes. And in their own right, the Hogwarts girls were even worse! Safely packed into clouds, never a single one alone to be asked properly and with the minimum risk of embarrassment, always giggling – Merlin, the terrible giggling, what was up with that?! - throwing covert glances in their direction and whispering among each other just to giggle some more.

Bloody hell... as Ron put it whenever they as good as escaped to the safety of their dorm. The girls might as well have been hanging from the top of the highest Hogwarts tower – they were completely beyond their reach and Harry and Ron knew they were running out of time. It took them a while to even start contemplating another attempt and when they did they inevitably fell back into the recurring circle of _“How would you...?”_ and _“We should...”_.

Harry reckoned this Ron's question was in the same compartment. Possibly. It could be forced in. He's never really thought about it, actually... What would he do if he had gotten a girl to go to the ball with him? Well... dance. He would certainly dance with her... only he didn't know how, at least not very well, and somehow he couldn't picture himself spinning a girl, any girl, around gracefully and enjoying it much himself. He was much too short to be graceful, for fuck's sake, nearly all the girls were already the same height as he was!

He realized Ron was waiting for his answer; the blue eyes peaking from between the much too long fringe were on him, and Harry gave a small, embarrassed smile.

“I don't know really,” he said honestly. “I've never really thought about it. I suppose... I'd try to talk to her some – though I'm not so sure what about, none of them seem too keen on Quidditch – and we'd probably _have_ to dance some, I think... I am the bloody champion after all and it's expected. Blast... I don't know, really...” he shrugged dejectedly, his thoughts even darker than usual when it came to the bloody ball. Ron had pointed to a very real problem: even if they somehow got the girls – their trouble for the night was nowhere near over. Damn...

“I was wondering... _wouldyoutrytokissher_?” Ron blurted out so fast, Harry had to repeat the sausage of his words in his mind and try to dissect it into legible English. He glanced at his friend and saw him blush deep crimson. The ginger was also no longer looking at him; his cheek, and not his chin, now rested on those long freckled palms of his hands.

“I... oh... well... erm... perhaps,” Harry tried carefully, trying to picture the less-than-likely-to-happen scene in front of his mental eyes. “If I really liked her,” he added quickly, so there would be no misunderstanding that he was currently not dying to kiss any girl in particular.

“Would you know how, then?” Ron mumbled, still not looking at him, but somewhere at the opposite wall as if the pattern in the ancient wood-panels proved most interesting indeed.

“Erm... well, no... not initially... but I think that you're supposed to learn by doing?” Harry was guessing. “I don't suppose anyone knows until they try... you know, practice makes perfect and all that rot.”

He knew he was on a thin ice here. He had no idea what he was on about; he had never kissed anyone and – though it did cross his mind occasionally, mostly in that _“I wonder what would that be like?”_ teenage fashion, he hadn't really thought about it with anyone particular... well, at least not with any particular girl in mind. Just... theoretically.

“Right... I'm doomed, then,” Ron concluded gloomily. “Like I'm ever going to find someone to practice with me. Fred is right, I'm gonna die an old hermit, all wrinkled, freckled and unsnogged.”

“Hey! It's not like I've got girls hanging from each of my elbows in grapes, trying to get kissed, you know!” Harry tried to cheer him up, but Ron just snorted:

“Puh-lease, Harry! You're a champion, mate! A Chosen One! I bet if you walked out of this dorm with your head held up high and snogged the first girl you met, she'd drop any loser she had promised to dance with and go with you - and you could be the world's most frightful snogger! I, on the other hand... who in their right mind would want to do it with me?! Just look at me – _look at me_!”

In a wave of sheer despair he sat up in his bed, long legs dangling over the side, and pointed to himself:

“Look at this, Harry! Who'd want this? Like, ever! Those bloody freckles! I look _diseased_! And I don't know why I bother with the quill; I could just as easily write with my nose, the blasted thing is _gigantic_! And the hair... it looks like my damn head is on fire, I swear no one in the family has such ghastly colour! Hardly anyone likes red hair, do they!? You hear people say: _“Oh, I like them blond! Oh, I simply adore brunets!”_ \- but no one is ever going to say: _“I like that guy over there with his head ablaze!”_ \- are they?! And those gangly limbs... my god, it's the world's greatest wonder I don't cause tornadoes when I walk! And for the record – please, please murder me in my sleep before I have to put Aunt Tessie's robes on!”

“Ron... mother of god... relax, mate!” Harry sighed a tad panicked. Honestly, his best mate and his flair for dramatic... the man’s going to give himself an aneurism on a good day! Well, at least no one could _ever_ accuse Ron Weasley of being boring...

“Look,” he tried. “This is not a beauty contest, you know. I don't reckon anyone's happy much with the way they look... except, perhaps, bloody Malfoy, that one's getting married to himself, I'm telling you!”

Finally, a smile. A tiny one, more like a half-eaten one, but it was better than nothing. Harry jumped off his bed and went to sit beside his best friend to have a better chance of bringing his point across.

“C'mon, mate... I'm not much of a looker either. At least you're tall and give it a year or so and you'll be full of muscle, just like your brother Charlie. And I'm just bloody scrawny, ain't I? Your little sister is nearly taller than me already, Ron, your _little_ sister! My hair looks as if I had a fire-cracker for breakfast at any given time and you know how everyone always goes about me having my mother's eyes – well, in case you haven't noticed, they're covered by the proper bottoms of Butterbeer kegs, and if I take them off I can't see the tip of my own nose! And you... you've got really nice blue eyes, bluest colour I've ever seen, no glasses, and your freckles... I don't think they look so bad, possibly? Actually, I think they're... erm... maybe... kind of... a bit adorable...” Harry said bravely, because, seriously, Ron's freckles _were_ adorable, if one took a good look at them. They were like tiny specks of stardust against the milky skin and they gave Ron that innocent, boyish look everyone knew the girls adored.

“You're having me on,” Ron mumbled, but by the tone of his voice Harry guessed he was no longer so upset, so he continued to plow in the same direction until his cow died – or Ron changed his mind about being moody, whichever came first.

“Not having you on,” he murmured, trying to put some indignation in his voice, as if he would be the one pulling the short straw if there was ever to be any comparison between them. He knew Ron needed it. Harry didn't. Not as badly, anyway.

“So far we've established you're wonderfully tall, you've got the bluest eyes in England and your freckles are adorable. And that's only about a half of your good traits. You may not like the colour of your hair, but it makes people notice you from afar – and yes, girls, too; they are _people_ , you know, as alien as they may seem sometimes! Besides, the colour is not ghastly...” Harry soldiered on bravely, he didn't know yet to what end. “It's... it makes your hair look warm and that mane of yours – it's just bloody soft, ain't it?” he carefully looked at his hands not to even allow for a chance to meet Ron's eyes. He could feel that sideway glance on him and he added quickly: “At least it looks that way.”

He felt his face flush with colour, because he _might_ have caught himself recently wondering at an occasion... or twenty about those soft fiery locks that sometimes brushed against his skin at casual contact and made it prickly. His own hair was nothing like this; it was thick and wild and strong, but not so... pretty. Bloody hell, this morale-boosting thing was harder than he thought!

“You _are_ having me on!” Ron complained, but Harry caught a small hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth and decided not to stop rolling now, when he was on the move.

“Am not!” he asserted firmly.

“Are, too!” Ron claimed stubbornly. “You're just pulling my leg to make me feel better, while in reality you're a compact little match-box of sex-appeal and I'm just a giant spotted ginger-troll!”

Harry couldn't help it. Something about that image made him throw himself backward on Ron's bed and roar in laughter. Bloody man! How the hell did he come up with sex-appeal – of all things! - in reference to the half-blind messy-haired midget he was!? His best mate was going to be the death of him!

“See... I knew you were laughing at me,” Ron mumbled, not too bitterly, but Harry was too joyful and strangely crazy to let him have his way. On a whim he grabbed him by the back of the school shirt and pulled him backwards so he came crashing down by his side.

“Ouch...Harry!” the ginger complained, when his head brushed against the wooden board at the top of the bed, but there was no real resentment in his voice, and Harry felt mischievous enough not to be bothered.

“Shut up!” he told him cheerily. “I'm not done with you and your qualities yet. I won't have anyone think badly of my best mate, not even himself! By Godric's hairy knees, I'm going to list every single one of your good traits until your ego is so inflated you'll fly around like my Aunt Marge!”

He rolled on his side with a determination of a man on a mission, leaned on his elbow and took a close look at Ron's face. From up close Ron looked strangely... different. Somehow his skin seemed softer, his eyes shone bluer and those freckles across the bridge of his nose... yeah... Why the hell was he preoccupied with Ron's freckles all of the sudden?! Seriously, this Yule ball was driving them both mental. Right, what was it again that he was trying to do? Oh, yeah. 

“Now – where to start? Oh, yeah... how about this... this nose of yours...”

Without a thought in his mind he touched it with his finger, let it slide slowly from between the surprisingly strong eyebrows down the length to the very tip, almost as if he wanted collect the stardust of freckles on his way, and he marvelled at the velvety skin under his finger. The skin on Ron's nose was very different from the skin of his calloused hands; it was soft and smooth, like brand new, fresh fabric out of the box and Harry found himself loving the feel of it. Ron's breath seemed to have stopped at the touch and his eyes lit up like stars of incredible blue and for some reason Harry felt a knot form in his throat. Right... a man on the mission, he forcefully reminded himself – he couldn't just lie there admiring the skin on Ron's nose!

“It's called aquiline, you prat,” he spoke almost gently and tried not to look up into those brilliant eyes. “It might be a bit... prominent, but it's _not_ gigantic! Snape's nose probably has its own weather climate, you know, yours is quite... cute by comparison...”

Oh, boy, why was he so poor at this?! He should be giving Ron compliments, making him become aware of his own qualities, boost his self-esteem a little.... and instead his mind couldn't move further from the blue vein pulsating steadily under the virgin white skin at the bottom of Ron's strong, endless neck and the warm, moist breath caressing the edge of his mouth made his hair stand on ends...

His eyes were drawn upwards like a magnet, towards the blue pools, aglow with some soft, incomprehensible fire, but he only managed a glance, and then he quickly lowered his eyes, because this was a mistake and if he stared a little longer he might start blabbing lots of really demented things about Ron's eyes and how they made him feel. He looked down at Ron's mouth, but that seemed to be another mistake, because he suddenly noticed that it was incredibly plush and moist, all red and tempting... no, not _tempting_ , what was he on about?! Ron's mouth was certainly, most definitely _not_ tempting, it was just... nice. In fact, it might have been the biggest Ron's selling point, how come he's never seen it properly before?!

“You've got a really nice mouth,” he blurted out and was immediately rewarded with it stretching into a smile, almost as if Ron knew and was waiting for him to notice. Harry exhaled a breath of relief. Perhaps his best mate was finally catching on and he won't have to do this for much longer. Not that he didn't want to, no, erm, everything for a friendship and all that rot, it was just... from so up close he was discovering new things about Ron and found them fascinating... a little too much so. He was quite certain he would never again be able to look at Ron's mouth again without remembering how the lips stretched into that winning smile and the healthy white teeth bit the bottom lip temptingly... Oh, no, here it was, that word again! For fuck's sake, you _stupid_ brain, Ron's mouth was not tempting, no, it was just a very lovely mouth... with very soft and... oh, god... kissable looking lips... Merlin, what the fuck...?!

“We could... practice,” he heard himself blurt out in an odd, strained voice and he could hardly believe what his defective brain had come up with. Merlin, Ron's going to kick him out of the window any time now, and if he flew all the way to the Quidditch pitch, Harry wouldn't be surprised! Here's one friendship, his only real bloke-to-bloke friendship, down the drain...

“Practice?” he heard Ron's voice laced with confusion and Harry wouldn't dare look up there, into those blue eyes that must be livid by now. No, he better keep his eyes straight on that soft, temp-, erm, generous mouth exhaling warm breaths of air onto Harry's skin, sending all kinds of wrong down his body. “You mean, with kissing?” the redhead finally seemed to have broken the code and his voice was now just full-on incredulous.

Shit. He had really blundered this time, Harry thought in panic. How on Merlin's flat Earth was he supposed to dig himself out of this tar-pit?! Shit, shit, shit...! Absolutely nothing came to mind, so he just nodded miserably and braced himself for the howling and a possible blow. But none of it came and after a long moment of silence Harry found his eyes drawn up helplessly until they once again drowned in the sea of blue.

“You'd be willing to do that... with me?” Ron asked quietly as if he couldn't quite believe it and Harry nodded again, his heart beating violently in his throat and added in a shaky voice:

“Only if you want... you know... for the girls... so we know how...”

An endless moment longer Ron exhaled slowly as if he was holding his breath all this time.

“Yeah... for the girls...” he said carefully and then Harry could almost feel him smile. “I suppose we could try... go on then!” the redhead said with a sudden boldness of a boy who had nothing to lose - and then added sheepishly as if on a second thought: “I don't even know how to start.”

Neither did Harry, but he's made a fool of himself today times enough and one more attempt couldn't really hurt... right... in for the knut, in for the galleon...

But before he could really make his move, Ron's arm shot up and he touched Harry's glasses carefully: “Perhaps... without those...”

“Yeah!” said Harry quickly, with a nervous laughter and removed his glasses, carefully depositing them on a bedstand by Ron's bed. “Good idea. Erm... so...”

It was a good idea. Without the help of his glasses, Ron's face seemed a bit softer around the edges to Harry, as if someone had smudged it with a finger; his expression not quite so sharp and Harry felt almost as if he suddenly found himself in the middle of a dream, when not everything was quite real and he was free to do whatever he liked. It was his dream after all.

He leaned into Ron... and quickly discovered that this is not going to work unless he tilted his head just a tiny bit. Ron's nose _was_ prominent, though this was not a good time to mention it, and Harry realized he's simply going to have to work around it, if he wanted to get to that plush, red mouth _tempting_ him – fuck it! - at the end of his dream. Their lips connected, shyly at first, and Ron's lips were just the warmest and softest thing ever... just as he expected them to be. They broke it off quickly, almost by consent, as if they wanted to give each other a chance to reconsider... but once Harry noticed a small smile on Ron's wonderfully cooperative mouth, it looked just like an invitation to him and he knew he wanted more of that... rehearsal.

He felt nearly smug with experience when he managed to smoothly manoeuvre his way around Ron's nose this time and he went straight for the main prize; after all, he knew now that Ron wasn't going to cringe away in disgust... and he kind of wanted more of that warm... softness, that was Ron's mouth. This time around it was... different. Ron's lips were just as warm and welcoming, but as they touched Harry's as gently as a pair of butterfly wings, they opened a little and the sweet moisture stunned Harry straight into the chest. Tasting Ron, tasting the inside of Ron's lips, was... intoxicating. It was sweet, actually, Harry thought mesmerized, and remembered the cream cakes Ron had as a dessert for lunch – yep, it was that exact vanilla sweetness still lingering about his mouth and without thinking much Harry licked at it gently, chasing the sweet taste around the inside of Ron's mouth – and brushed against his tongue. _Merlin_. _Christ_. This was something else.

Harry heard Ron take a small gasp and the shock of a silken contact nearly startled him into pulling out of the alluring kiss as well, but before he could make another move, it happened again and... oh. _Oh...Merlin_. Oh. He couldn't... stop. He felt as if his body melted a little every time his tongue brushed against that slick, soft muscle in Ron's mouth, sliding against his own tongue gently, persistently and invitingly... and pretty soon that was all Harry could think about. Ron's mouth was pliant, wonderfully hot and deep, full of surprises... such as those generous lips closing around Harry's tongue and sucking gently until Harry saw stars.... or the sharp, even teeth Harry probingly ran his tongue against only to make Ron give a quiet mewl and Harry nearly lost all of his marbles with that sound.

God Almighty, what were they doing?! He instinctively knew that this...thing surpassed the actions of a mere camaraderie by a fucking mile long moments ago... but, oh, goddammit, it was so... incredible... addictive...  he couldn't... oh... please.

Reluctance forgotten, they were now kissing full on, just like the adults did in those movies... for adults. Hard. Tasting each other. Testing the waters. Challenging one another. With sloppy, eager mouth full of dancing, probing tongues, toying lovingly, licking slowly, with delight, and teasing those little sounds out of each other's mouth that turned Harry's brain into a pile of goo. Every time he had a passing thought that they should, perhaps, somehow... maybe... quit this... while they still could... he discovered a new taste to Ron's mouth, another silken contour he had yet to explore, or a hidden, hot pit behind his lips, full of those wonderful juices he needed to have a taste of - and Ron would make those undoing little noises again and Harry couldn't... he couldn't quit, he couldn't pull out to save his soul.

“Harry...” the redhead moaned softly into his mouth and Harry's heart nearly leapt out of his chest, begging with numb, feverish urgency that this was not it; that Ron wouldn't ask to stop... But a moment later those long, familiar fingers sunk into his hair and they brought them closer together; Ron's warm hand immobilizing his head so he could kiss him as thoroughly as he could ever hope to and Harry's body swayed a little and collided with Ron's.

The sudden flush of heat slammed down Harry's body like a deadly flood and at the same time there was that wanton, loud and breathless _“Shit... Harry... please...”_ , sounding all desperate and bothered and...

It was all it took. Without a second thought Harry leaned fully into the boy by his side and pressed his body as close as he dared... and then he felt it. Them, more precisely. Ron's... erm... thing and his own. It seemed that their... practising had left Ron with a more than a slight problem in the area below the belt – but Harry was in no position to complain; his own... predicament had... _grown_ to be equally embarrassing. Frankly, he was not usually the one to give his... appendage more thought that it was worth – the area was safely covered by a very loud Seamus, thank you very much and keep the flowers – his life was too much of a mess already; so when he woke up with... a problem, he tried to take care of it as swiftly and as quietly as he could, usually succeeding rather satisfactorily.

So why was he now pressing his painfully hard cock – oh, god when did it get so hard?! - into Ron's impressive bulge, rocking lightly and couldn't stop himself from moaning like a bitch in heat?! Why?! Why couldn't he... oh, for the love of god, there was a damp spot on Ron's school trousers where the hard cock pressed against it with force and just the sight of it, the gorgeous bulge pressed against Harry's tented trousers, kind of... almost... made Harry blow his load. _Almost_. He was nearly there and he hasn't even seen... it.

 _“Ron, we need to stop,”_ he tried to tell him, but miraculously none of such wise words actually appeared and what came out instead was: _“Ron... Ron, please... need...”_ whimpered most embarrassingly and that was that; his best mate just knew what he craved, as always.

“Fuck... yeah... hold on... lie down,” he ordered in a breathless voice and rolled Harry off him and onto his back. The large palm of his freckled hand crawled on top of Harry's... problem area and hovered just above it, driving Harry spare with its warmth and the quiet promise of... something he dared not quite imagine.

“Just... say if it feels wrong, yeah?” Ron said in a small voice that told Harry better than any words how very nervous... and excited his best mate was. Harry merely nodded quickly, forcing his hips not to jerk into the wonderfully big palm of his hand - because this was just what the stupid body parts wanted to do - and he squeaked in a voice that bordered on begging:

“Just go on already...” and added a breathless “...please...”, because he didn't mean to be rude, but this was an emergency and given the strange, almost hungry expression on Ron's face he assumed his best friend had a pretty good idea of how much of an emergency and how badly Harry needed... it... this... something. Something Ron had and he could give it to... _ohgodandmerlin_...

The large hand finally descended onto him, onto that mound in his pants and rubbed probingly, gently, and Harry's hips just flew up to meet it and it was simply the most terrifying thing ever how little control he had left over his own rebelling body, demanding its due. Ron barely moved his hand on top of Harry's mortifying erection a couple of times, when Harry whimpered pleadingly: “You think you could... without...?”

Because sometime during those two seconds it took Ron to start moving his hand, Harry realized how much more of it he wanted. The very idea of Ron's calloused hands travelling across his naked flesh, skin on skin, his cock disappearing inside of Ron's big palm, milking it... _jesusF.christ_ he could no longer wait. In a surge of wild passion and desperate courage his own hand flew to the tented fabric of Ron's pants and the shaky fingers began undoing the world's most inconvenient button.

“Merlin... Harry...” Ron gasped, but finally got the hint and his fingers began fumbling with the button and, soon, the zipper on Harry's trousers. Harry barely knew what he was doing, he just knew that he had to find a way to start rocking into that large hand of Ron's or he'll fall apart... or something. Could one explode from held back come? Harry was afraid he was about to find out.

Their hands found their way into each other's trousers almost simultaneously and then there was nothing in between them but the thin fabric of their underpants - boxers, Harry knew, from taking an occasional covert peak he would never own up to - and the soft worn out cloth threatened to break under the strain of Ron's cock. Harry only had to feel it to know that it was bigger than his, but when he ran his fingers up and down the length with awed wonder, Ron gave a most delicious, long moan “Harry... shit... please... more...”

And Harry might have lost it a bit right there and then. The urgency of Ron’s voice was enough to make his cock twitch and press against Ron’s hand eagerly and as soon as that hot large palm made contact with his cock, so hard it came close to tearing the tiny buttons on his boxers, he knew he was in trouble. Christ, he was going to come at the first touch and embarrass himself completely! He had to think of something... anything... quickly... before Ron reached underneath the fabric and put his wonderfully warm, strong hand around his engorged, desperate member... Dumbledore in a frilly pink underwear... Snape’s hairy legs in fishnet stockings... erm... oh, bloody murder... Merlin... here he comes...

Harry’s gasped _“fuck!!!”_ was embarrassing – but Ron didn’t seem to care much. In a last moment's inspiration Harry’s hand had pushed down Ron’s pants with desperate determination and plunged forward, making Ron’s hips jerk and feed his hand full of scary cock, so purple it looked fit to burst, heavy and hard, yet strangely velvety to the touch and just buzzing with juices underneath the hot skin. Harry was holding someone else’s cock in his hand for the first time in his life – and thought he would die of it. His heartbeat definitely attempted to escape out of his ears, his balls were so tense it hurt and the pleading look in Ron’s eyes was the most undoing thing ever.

“Harry... please...” the redhead whispered feverishly and as if upon order, Harry’s hand began moving. The first stroll up and down Ron’s shaft was insecure, almost hesitant, but the way Ron arched his body and threw his head back in a loud, unabashed _“ohhhh”_ , had Harry completely mesmerized. To be able to do that to another boy... He stroke more boldly now, wrapped around it more tightly and when he reached the top of it his thumb brushed across it and smeared the liquid over the slit...

“Fuck... Merlin... Harry... just... oh, fucking please...”

And then Harry's barely held down a downright howl because Ron kissed him without a warning; that soft, tempting – tempting! - heavenly mouth sought him out in the exact moment, when the warm hand, until now gripping his cock loosely, as if scared to make a wrong move, tightened around his painfully swollen shaft and Ron began pumping him in tense, desperate movements that made Harry see black and push into his hand with no restraints, blabbing all kinds of impossible gibberish. He was effectively fucking Ron's fist and it was the best thing ever - and he was just utterly past caring, because Ron was rocking inside the palm of Harry's hand with the same straightforward urgency, a string of whispered expletives and sweet nothings pouring from that lovely mouth unbroken.

And Harry's chest seemed too tight for all the hot life bursting inside of it as he watched his redheaded best-mate getting off inside of his, Harry's fist, because... well, because Ron was just a sight to die for, wasn't he? With his eyes nearly closed, the long auburn eyelashes only let a shimmer of brilliance through, but the blue orbs were unrelentingly focused on Harry's face as if Ron wanted to see him lose it, as if he wouldn't want to risk missing a moment of Harry's absolute surrender. He would lean in unexpectedly and kissed the breath and sanity out of Harry, but then he went back to watching him intently, with eyes nearly closed and delectable mouth slightly opened as if he was living his favourite fantasy. Harry felt as if he was coming undone for that awed, worshipping look alone. And then...

Ron leaned into him once more, that sinful mouth once again working Harry into a right mess of quiet, unstoppable whimpers, and then that sloppy mouth moved to Harry's ear and the hot breath nearly did Harry in.

“Let me... please...”

Harry had no idea what he was asking for nor what to expect, but it wasn't like he could think much with Ron's playful mouth toying with his ear, nibbling gently on the earlobe, licking the tender skin underneath it until Harry barely managed a desperate “ _Yeah... whatever... anything...”_ between the embarrassing _“Oh, fuck, Ron”_ and _“Don't stop”._

“Not gonna to stop, am I?” Ron panted quietly in his ear. “This is the best thing ever... Just... I want to try... this...”

And Harry could have cried in indignation when Ron's large palm suddenly covered his and removed it from his cock... What the fuck?! He thought he was doing fine! But then he felt his hand travel upwards, all the way to Ron's mouth and the redhead looked him straight in the eye.... before he licked the centre of it slowly, with a wet, heavy tongue made to let loose the last of Harry's marbles... and then there was Ron's own hand smearing against Harry's and when Ron brought it to his mouth, Harry knew what to do. He licked it eagerly, too eagerly perhaps, he won't have any dignity left when this is over... not that he cared much, not really, when he had his tongue pressed against that long narrow palm, he's daydreamed about a tad too often for comfort, tracing every life line, every patch of calloused skin, savouring the tender bits between his fingers that made Ron mewl most heavenly...

And then he felt it. Ron had tilted his hips in a way that his heavy cock rubbed against Harry's and Harry moaned helplessly at the invasion of that silken hardness sliding with eager, desperate movement next to his own bursting cock and when he had a sudden flash of Ron spilling all over their hot, bothered cocks, he nearly made himself come.

“Ron...” he gasped, not really knowing what he wanted but this sweet torture was unbearable and he was desperate to go on... and on and on... he needed to complete this crazy, unimaginable thing they had started because this was his one chance and this was his Ron... Ron was seeing behind his closed eyelids when he was working himself with his desperate fist, feeling insanely guilty because none of the girl fantasies could make him fall apart so inevitably as the thought of those long limbs wrapped around him could; Ron, he could never admit to ogling and crushing on and fantasising about because  it was just not done, because they were both boys, best mates, and because it would be beyond awkward... But somehow they ended up here, their cocks mashed together and now Ron's fingers intertwined with his own and he brought their joint hands down, on top of their swollen, leaking shafts and closed around them, embraced them into a tight, wet nest of their joint palms and looked at Harry, panting and whispering almost pleadingly:

“Alright... like this?”

And Harry could only nod, and in the very next moment, as if his consent couldn't come fast enough, Ron's hips plunged forth, pushing his massive cock through the ring of their fingers and sliding it against Harry's down the whole length most deliciously and it was just... _fuuuuuck_.... Harry might have screamed that out loud, but he god-honestly no longer cared, because his arse was hard-wired to follow Ron's suit and he slammed it forward, catching Ron's rhythm, and it was... unbelievable... together... fucking awesome... all of it... the silken heaviness of Ron’s thick shaft pushing through their locked fists, crushed up against his own weeping cock, rubbing desperately against Ron’s in chase of more ungodly friction and that undoing, unspoken intimacy Harry never had with anyone else... the soft red mouth inches from his, exhaling the wet, hot puffs of air mingled with whispered filth and his name, as if Ron couldn’t help saying all that came to his mind... those blue eyes locked with Harry’s as if Ron wanted to tell him this was for him and no one else but him... All of it. And when Ron leaned into him once again and melted Harry with the smell of that incredible male musk, Harry came too close to breaking.

“Harry...”

Ron voice was needy, nearly keening in urgency as if he was begging something of him with no words; hot mouth once again caressing Harry’s ear, making him moan loudly, with unabashed urgent need.

“I really... really... like you, Harry... I like you...  so bloody much... oh, gods... like this... I... so many times... always... you... only... you... please... you’re making me...”

“Ron!!!... oh, Christ.... Ron...”

Harry didn’t even manage a warning. He was spilling before he could stop himself; something hot and unstoppable uncoiled at the bottom of his balls at that first desperate _“I like you”_ from Ron’s mouth, as if those words found an aching, needy spot inside of him and pushed straight into it, instantly filling up a hole that has been with him throughout his miserable, lonely childhood, bloomed into a feeling of impossible happiness and made him burst with all that incredible release, that unbelievable feeling that he was needed and wanted and loved at last. And Ron was right there with him the whole time.

Arching their bodies into each other, they were coming all over the innocent canvas of bare skin between them and their come mingled along with their desperate kisses, barely hushed moans and whispered senseless words that came with making love to the one person that had the power to put you right on top of the world.

At long last Ron collapsed on top of him boneless, with a final, echoing groan, covering Harry's smaller body entirely, and in spite of his considerable dead weight and angular, bony structure pressing Harry deeply into the mattress, Harry just lay there there, melted against the sheets in a feeling of complete elation and happiness. Lying quietly like this, his erratic breathing finally slowing down, pinned under Ron's hard body without a conscious thought to spare, all the insecurities and anxieties gone, he felt protected, safe, and strangely at peace. With his face buried into the pit of that long, strong neck he had such a thing for, and those plush, warm lips still caressing his skin gently, almost as if Ron couldn't get enough of him, Harry felt a mixture of headless, breathless joy and a strange feeling of integrity, as if all the loose ends finally connected and he was no longer a ragged, lost creature he had been until this very morning. It was as if everything had come to focus and he was this boy, here, lost and found and defined in the embrace of his best mate, of the one person that mattered the most.

Ron had gone awfully quiet and still and suddenly Harry felt a quiet _“fuck...”_ whispered against his skin and he didn’t understand when it was followed by a miserable _“I’m sorry... I really bollocksed this up, didn’t I?!”_...

Ron’s face was still buried in the crook of Harry’s neck, as if he was somehow ashamed to face the world, but Harry could feel his misery rolling away from him in waves and with a strange, desperate kind of determination he knew he didn’t want this... the guilt, the awkwardness between them... any of it, he didn’t want it; he couldn’t handle it. He’s had enough of bad blood between them this year; he couldn’t see the precious thing they had trampled upon. And he had to let Ron know.

“Don’t...” he said quietly. “Don’t ruin it for me. It’s... perfect this way... it was... it really is.”

“It’s just that... you smelled so nice and I'm such a mess and... _what_?!” Ron started hastily, then stopped abruptly as if the meaning of Harry's words finally hit home. He slowly lifted his head up a fraction just to be able to steal a covert side-look at Harry and as incredulous as he sounded, a tiny glimmer of hope in his voice was unmistakeable: “Really? It was? It... is?”

The blue orbs stole another cautious glance at him from behind the silken veil of too long ginger hair and Harry let the joy he felt bubbling up inside spill onto his face: “Yeah. Really. It really is.”

And slowly that brilliant, undoing smile lit up the blue eyes like heavenly torches and Harry's heart just ached at the sight of it, because he wanted to own it so badly, he wanted to be the one that put it there, this time and every other.

But Ron's face once again disappeared into the crook of his neck and Harry found the soft lips hovering just above his skin, having him shiver with the hot, wet breath caressing his every nerve-ending, making his blood dance against its warm tune.

“Potter... you're something else,” the redhead murmured quietly, gently, and as his lips finally brushed against the thin, tender skin of Harry's neck, making him barely suppress a moan, Harry blurted out before he had given it any solid thought:

“Of course... we could always improve... with practice,” he added shyly when his brain finally caught up with the possibly horrible consequences of his words, because if Ron didn't want to...

“ _Ohgodyeah_ ,” Ron babbled out as if this very thought was the only one on his mind and he couldn't say fast enough how much he appreciated Harry saying it out loud. “I thought you'd never want to... again,” he continued with an obvious embarrassment in his voice, but strangely determined, as if he wanted to prove to Harry that he can take his share of to-die-off confessions.

“Can't see why not,” Harry mumbled into his hair and whimpered quietly as the sweet tongue rolled up his neck and painted a lazy circle around his ear. “The Yule ball is in just two days, we could... you know... use the experience... oh, bloody hell, Ron... besides... that was just... the best damn... rehearsal I ever had...”

Sudden eager, full-mouthed kiss was his only reply and just before Harry's mind blissfully turned off, his departing thought was that he didn't really mind practising some more. Nope, didn't mind it at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to re-direct my mind away from the endless fic that was beginning to drain me, so I figured out I would do something short and not too heavy with Harry and Ron, because I haven't done that in a while. It didn't come out too short, but the light-weight topic was a welcome distraction. I know it's PWP-ish and it could have done with quite a bit of polishing, but at the moment, it's all I'm capable of. :P Sorry if it's not even up to my feeble standards.


End file.
